The faint hum of the ceiling fan was the only sound in the room. The wide office had tall windows draped in heavy maroon curtains, allowing thin slits of sunlight to cut through the dust-filled air. Outside, the chatter of students and the distant clang of the college bell seemed like echoes from another world—one far away from the silence here.
Two figures sat on opposite ends of a long mahogany desk.
One leaned back with practiced ease, the other sat straight-backed, as if ready to spring away at any moment.
From a distance, they could have been anyone—just two people in a meeting.
Up close, the atmosphere between them was sharp enough to slice through glass.
"Your credentials are… impressive," the man said, his voice deep, measured, and oddly smooth. It carried the cadence of someone used to speaking in courtrooms or boardrooms—someone who had no need to raise his voice to command attention.
The woman across from him tilted her head slightly.
"I didn't come here for compliments," she replied, her tone steady but edged. "Why am I really here?"
The man's lips curved faintly—just short of a smile. "Straight to the point. I like that. But let's talk about something far more… interesting than your résumé."
A folder slid across the desk, its leather surface making a soft hiss against the polished wood. It stopped exactly in front of her. The letters on its cover were bold, stamped in black: Aariz Case.
She didn't touch it.
Instead, her gaze stayed locked on him.
"That's not my field," she said coolly.
"Perhaps not yet," he countered, the faintest flicker of amusement in his eyes. "But you're about to make it your field."
The tension held for several seconds before the camera—if this had been a film—would have shifted slightly, catching the thin, ivory envelope resting on the desk beside her. The BBC insignia gleamed faintly in the slanting light. The kind of envelope that could change a career.
"Congratulations," he said casually, as if announcing the weather. "You've been selected by the British Broadcasting Corporation. That's not something to take lightly, Miss—"
"You already know my name," she cut in.
The man didn't deny it. Instead, he tapped the Aariz file with one long finger. "This is your first assignment. The BBC will be… very pleased to see you take initiative."
Her brows drew together. "And if I don't?"
His eyes sharpened, though his tone remained soft. "Then they might hear certain things. Things that could make them… reconsider your candidacy. The media industry is small, Miss Aditi. News travels fast. Especially when I decide to spread it."

The name—Aditi—hung in the air for the first time, breaking the anonymity like a dropped stone in still water.
The light shifted through the window, finally illuminating her face fully.
Strong cheekbones, dark eyes with a glint of restrained fire, and the kind of quiet beauty that came from confidence rather than vanity. Her hair was pulled back neatly, her attire simple yet crisp. There was nothing in her appearance that screamed recklessness—yet there was something in her gaze that promised she wasn't the type to be easily controlled.
She leaned forward slightly, resting her hands on the desk, her fingers brushing the edge of the BBC letter. "So this is blackmail," she said matter-of-factly.
"Call it… persuasion," he replied.
For a moment, the sunlight caught the gold-plated nameplate on his desk, but the engraving was too far for anyone standing outside the doorway to read clearly. The world outside might call him a principal, but here—inside these walls—his title seemed heavier, more dangerous.
"Why me?" she asked after a pause.
"Because you're capable," he said without hesitation. "And because you're smart enough to know when you don't have a choice."
Her jaw tightened. The silence between them was broken only by the soft ticking of the clock on the wall. Aditi's eyes flickered to the Aariz file again. She had heard the name before—rumors passed in hushed tones among journalism students, the kind of story that came with warnings attached. People who had gone after it had ended up losing far more than their jobs.
"Fine," she said finally, the word clipped. "I'll do it."
The man's lips curved into a slow, satisfied smirk. "Good. I knew you'd be smart enough to choose the right path… or at least, the only one left to you."
Outside, the late morning sun had risen higher, casting sharp light across the college courtyard. Students laughed, papers rustled, and somewhere, a bell rang again. The world kept moving as if nothing had changed.
But inside, for Aditi, everything had.
She rose from her chair, BBC letter in one hand, Aariz file in the other. Her steps toward the door were even and calm, but her mind was already running ahead, weighing risks against rewards.
Behind her, the man leaned back in his chair, his fingers steepled beneath his chin. His smirk lingered, but his eyes had shifted—no longer merely assessing, now calculating. Watching her go, as if each step she took was exactly the one he had predicted.
The door clicked shut.
And the game began.